Chapter 14
Rys blinked, and in that instant, the broken world of Ruathym vanished.
One moment, he stood in the burning ruins of his past. The next, a hewn stone chamber surrounded him. Beside him was the rest of his party, although they appeared significantly more confused than he was.
The room had the same dome-like shape as the chamber for the last power conduit. That implied the same designers were behind both seals, Rys realized. If so, it made him question who had built the door that protected this power conduit.
Orthrus hovered beside him, then lazily drifted toward the obelisk that dominated the center of the room. Once Rys destroyed this obelisk, which was the power conduit itself, then he would regain some measure of his true power.
“This one looks different from the previous one,” he commented with a frown.
Instead of a single block of dark stone, it was a multi-pronged pillar. If Rys had to guess, he imagined that it was constructed to draw in magic from the surrounding air. But he disliked guessing when it came to something he genuinely didn’t understand. This obelisk was ancient magic and far older than anything he had ever tangled with.
“Indeed.” Orthrus’s tone was thoughtful, and Rys imagined that the wisp would stroke his chin if he could. “This isn’t the right conduit.”
“I’m sorry? Is that a joke? Are you going to direct me to another Labyrinth now?”
Orthrus chuckled. “No, there’s only the one. I mean that this is an extension of the interference I observed upon our entry. Whoever interfered with the defense mechanisms has also modified the seal itself. That is… most unusual. I do not have the available power to determine exactly why, or how, but it implies an immense level of power and knowledge.”
The wisp turned to face Rys. “I imagine that combination was in short supply in your era.”
“Anybody with it was a legend by the time I was born,” Rys replied with a distant gaze. “And after the Cataclysm, most became myth. If I cared to, I could count everyone on one hand and not use all my fingers. Malusian, Kauros, probably not Ariel.” He frowned. “Presumably this new Azrael.”
“I am doubtful of that, but it is possible.”
Rys wondered why Orthrus thought that an archangel was incapable of this, but let the topic lie. There was, after all, one other person who could have pulled this off. And he was the same person who could have interfered with the runes on the entrance.
Rys himself.
Not that it made much sense. If Rys was going to mess with a seal like this, he imagined he wouldn’t have set it up to contain himself. That made very little sense. He was missing vital information, and his lack of memories prevented him from unraveling the puzzle.
“I assume I just break this one, despite your concerns?” Rys asked. “It’s not going to be trapped?”
“No, I don’t believe that is possible. The material itself is effectively impervious to magic.”
“Then how am I breaking it?” he asked.
Orthrus didn’t answer, but instead stared at Rys. Somehow, he suspected that the answer was a simple one.
These chambers had sat in plain sight for millennia, but nobody had stumbled into them. The defense mechanisms weren’t even that strong. What made Rys different was deep inside himself, and he felt his connection to the castle shudder as he stared at the obelisk.
After stepping up to the obelisk, Rys raised his axe and shattered it in a single strike. Black stone flew everywhere. The assembled infernals, Kinadain, and fox watched in silence.
Nothing happened. Rys didn’t find himself transported to a vision of his past. He didn’t regain lost memories. For the briefest of instants, he felt robbed.
Then his entire body throbbed with raw, unyielding power. Blood rushed to his head, and his heart and lungs pumped wildly to keep up with his expanding strength. He felt as though he was physically growing in size, even as he did nothing but stand in one place.
After a second passed, and Rys caught his breath, he rolled his shoulders. His entire body felt lighter. Stronger. Raw magical power ran through his body at a level he hadn’t felt since he had awakened.
“Rys,” Grigor breathed out. “You’re back.”
Looking over, Rys saw Grigor and the other demons staring at him with wide, glowing eyes. Then, one by one, they dropped to their knees and bowed their heads. The lesser demons trembled while the noble demons grinned. Both Grigor and Fred appeared relieved.
Everyone else looked be confused, but the devils realized something had happened.
“You look happy, boss. Care to show off? I can guess that you’re somehow really terrifying right now, but I can’t see it like the demons can,” Margrim said, stroking his chin.
The soulsight of the demons allowed them to see the magical power of anyone they looked at, whereas devils only saw emotions. Only the demons saw how powerful Rys had just become.
Rys nodded and raised a hand. With a snap of his fingers, he filled the entire cavern with a dragon made of blood red flames.
The others in the cavern gasped and ducked. Embers of hellfire gushed off the beast, but Rys dismissed them with a thought. Prismatic light billowed off the fiery conjuration as the very air was transformed into magical energy. The dragon beat its wings, and a rainbow formed across the room.
“Uh, boss, I think you should stop that before we all suffocate,” Margrim said, his already ashen face somehow paler than usual.
With another snap of his finger, Rys canceled his spell. In the ensuing moments, the devils joined the demons and kneeled.
“Stand up,” Rys said. “Nothing’s changed. You’ve just seen a little more of who I really am.”
“A little?” Fara muttered, her tails frizzed out. “This is a little?”
Grigor stood up, along with the rest of the infernals. He let out a chuckle. “Indeed. Rys hasn’t been this weak since the war with the angels. Even when I first met him, he was at least this strong.”
The room fell deathly silent. Rys saw the gears churning in the minds of many of his subordinates, and not just the mortal ones. Alsia’s expression was thoughtful, even if her bodyguards bordered on terrified. Some of the infernals tried kneeling again.
In order to break up the group hug, Rys started giving out orders. “Taras, scout out the nearby corridors. There were signs of others earlier, and we need to know if we should expect trouble on the way out.”
The black cloth-swathed devil snapped off a salute and a nod, then disappeared out of the room with his fellow Malakin devils.
Rys raised an eyebrow, then quickly looked around himself for a note or something scrawled in dust. Nothing. He checked his pockets. Nada.
“I think you scared him,” Fara said. “I can’t blame him.”
Fred nodded. “Indeed. It was rather mean of you get his name wrong after such a display. I believe his name was Tarasu.”
Fucking hell.
Fara rolled her eyes. “I’m pretty sure Mina doesn’t even know he’s lying about his name.”
Rys was definitely going to disabuse his new spymaster of that notion.
“Lying?” Fred asked.
Rys gave the fat bastard a look. “Go help Taras with scouting, Fred.”
Grumbling, the demon prince waddled outside.
Rys used the time to rest up. The influx of power had initially infused him with energy, but he now felt like he was coming off that peak. Lethargy seeped into his muscles and bones. Once he got back, he suspected he might sleep for a week.
Orthrus had robbed him with the first power conduit, he realized. The two seals were incomparable.
When Rys had cracked open the power conduit for Orthrus’s seal, he had gained a small amount of his power back and some of his skills. Plus the sealed memories related to Azrael.
But the power conduit for Rys’s actual seal had given him ten times as much raw strength. He was stronger than Grigor, had the magical power of a noble devil, had regained some of his ability to channel magic, and remembered even more skills.
First, he had relearned immense amounts of his infernal sorcery. He now knew how to simultaneously cast a ritual and a regular spell at once. More importantly, he had learned one of his most powerful spells, and one that he had seen in his battle with Azrael in his flashback.
Absolute Disruption, Rys termed it. It had been “borrowed” from Azrael. By casting a lengthy ritual spell, he could effectively turn off one type of magic in his vicinity for several minutes. Sorcery, spiritualism, infernal sorcery—he couldn’t affect astral power, obviously. Anybody using astral energy was bending reality, so it was far too difficult to simply “turn off.”
But this technique was how Rys battled foes far more powerful than himself. It wasn’t perfect—if turning off magic was enough to win a battle, Azrael would have killed Ariel or Malusian during the Cataclysm—but it was good enough most of the time. The downside was that it affected Rys as well, if he turned off infernal sorcery.
Otherwise, Rys had further improved his summoning ability. Mina would get the help she needed with her intelligence assets now. He had remembered specialized summoning rituals for succubi and other races of infernals that specialized in manipulating others. Given their mental abilities, keeping them in check with the right summoning circle was important.
What Rys didn’t learn was anything about his forgotten past. These skills felt like things he should have known all along. It wasn’t that he had remembered key parts of his life, which then let him relearn these spells. Instead, the seal simply relaxed its grip on his mind. The feeling frustrated him.
Rys realized that the seal was genuinely limiting his power and growth. Perhaps it was the reason he struggled so much with evocation. Or maybe that was an excuse.
While waiting, Margrim and his Ashen dug up the power slate that powered the door and power conduit defense mechanism. Like last time, it had seemingly appeared only after destroying the conduit itself.
“There is a large group of heavily armored Kinadain knights on this level,” Taras reported back. “Their equipment is enchanted, expensive, and well-worn. This is their emblem.”
The ninja weaved a symbol in the air out of smoke. Alsia and Fara frowned. A moment later, Rys and Grigor did as well.
“That’s the emblem of the Royal Gorgrian Kingdom, isn’t it?” Rys said.
“Worse,” Fara said. “That’s their royal emblem. Those are the royal knights of the RGK.”
Alsia nodded. “Queen Faeris maintains an elite regiment of demihuman knights, all of whom are draconic demihumans.” She touched her own horns while her pointed tail waved about, reminding Rys that Alsia was a draconic demihuman herself. “Other than Kinadain Slayers, they are most dangerous warriors in the archipelago. Every single one of them is a trained spellblade and they could be either sorcerers or spiritualists.”
“So let’s not fight them,” Rys said drily. “We’re not at war with Gorgria, and whoever wins an encounter still loses.”
“They looked rather scrumptious and their equipment quite valuable,” Fred added.
Everybody stared at him, and he grumbled.
“Is there a route around them?” Rys asked.
“Perhaps. We must move quickly, however,” Taras said.
“Then let’s go. Everybody up!”
That “perhaps” from Taras worried Rys, and he found out why as they bailed out from the Labyrinth. The party made an absurd racket as they clattered across the stone flooring. The Labyrinth here was more polished and fine than the one beneath Kavolara, and the demons were in a good mood. They made a lot of noise as they left.
Naturally, the Gorgrian knights heard them and caught up. As demihumans, they could navigate the Labyrinth without help. Even worse, they were experienced Labyrinth divers.
As Rys ushered his group up some stairs, he stared across the massive chamber at a pair of elegantly armored knights.
They stood at the far entrance, holding tall, curved tower shields and long swords. Their armor was functional, but impressive nonetheless. Heavy plate, chain mail, thick padded cloth. They didn’t gleam, and they lacked decorations other than their official emblems, but their horns and tails gave them a nasty look.
A fool might think they looked like ordinary soldiers. But their understated presence is what made them more impressive to Rys. The Gorgrian knights looked like efficient killers, more than dick-waving knights. Their equipment exuded magic, they held themselves well, and the fact they were this deep in the Labyrinth said more about their skills than anything else.
But they did nothing but watch. Rys went up the steps once his group was gone, and the knights didn’t follow.
Presumably, Faeris would hear of this. His little venture into Gorgria might have ramifications down the line.
“Can I ask a question?” Fara piped up as they returned to the Kavolaran section of the Labyrinth.
“If I say that you already are, will you hit me?” Rys asked.
Her tails batted him upside the head in answer to his question.
“I’m taking that as a yes,” she grumbled. “And stop looking so happy every time I hit you with my tails. Do I need to start infusing them with the earth element?”
“Please don’t.”
He had seen what that looked like. Fara could turn her tail from a fluffy object of affection into a spiky bat of death in an instant. Rys imagined how bad it would be if his fingers were in her fur when the transformation took place.
Then he stopped imagining it and rubbed his hands together with a wince.
She smirked, no doubt aware of his thoughts.
“So?” he asked.
“That hellfire was different from before. I can’t explain it, but it just…” Fara’s tails vibrated behind her. “Something about them set my tails on edge.”
“Quite the keen senses,” Orthrus butted in. His glowing form appeared above them, and Rys wondered how long he had been listening in. Now that they had the Kinadain to help navigate, he could join the group from time to time. “I was quite impressed the see such a fundamental change in your sorcery, myself. It was one thing to see your magical strength increase, another to see that you are a master of conceptual magic.”
Fara froze in place. A Lilim nearly ran into her and gave the fox a gentle push forward.
“Are you okay?” Rys asked.
“I may have misheard,” she said. “I consider myself fluent in a lot of languages now, after so many decades here, but sometimes I still make mistakes when it comes to technical jargon. I don’t know if ‘conceptual magic’ means what I think it means in any Pharosian tongues.”
“Well, try me,” he suggested. “I have a translation Gift. I can tell you.”
Fara said a few words in different languages.
“All of those words mean the same thing, and they mean what Orthrus is talking about,” Rys said.
Fara’s face paled.
“Really? Of all the things I can do, this is what bothers you?” he said, trying not to laugh.
“Don’t. Do not laugh at this,” she muttered. “Do you know what conceptual magic is?”
“Do you? Fara, I can describe to you the precise magical workings of how infernal Gifts bend causality itself, and how to use magic to block them. So, yes, I know what conceptual magic is.” He raised an eyebrow.
She blushed and refused to look at him. “You’re perverting the world itself. It’s… it’s against everything I was taught was right.”
“This may be an interesting philosophical discussion, but I believe it starts from the wrong root,” Orthrus said.
“Mmm. Conceptual magic doesn’t change the world, Fara. It is the world. That’s why it’s conceptual.” Rys chuckled.
When she gave him a confused look, he sighed.
“If you simplified things and drew a line from one end to the other of ‘magic that changes the world,’ you would put astral power on one end and conceptual magic on the other,” he explained. “In the middle is most sorcery.”
“Okay, so what is conceptual magic? If I’m so wrong.” Fara sounded grumpy.
“It is magic based on the root concept of something. Sorcery is usually ephemeral—that is, once the magical energy runs out, the world removes the effect of the spell because it doesn’t belong here. That’s why prismatic light appears, because magical energy generates heat and light as it is removed from the material plane,” Rys explained. “But conceptual magic is rooted in the world itself, and therefore is everlasting. The world cannot distinguish between the summoned concept and the real thing.”
“Why couldn’t you use it before?” she asked. “And if it is so special, why doesn’t everybody?”
“Because it’s restrictive. Elemental spirits use conceptual magic, but their abilities are limited as a result—there’s no such thing as a sand elemental, only an earth elemental. There is no natural concept for a ‘magical lance,’ so a sorcerer has fewer spells available. The dwarves have a list of conceptual ‘perfect’ runes, and it only has 13 runes in it. Runic syllabaries normally have hundreds or even thousands of runes in them. It’s like going to a library with a million books in it and being told you can only read fifty of them, because those are the ‘real’ ones.”
“You just cast hellfire. I’m pretty sure that’s not real or natural,” Fara snapped.
“Ah, well, that’s complicated.” Rys smirked.
“Ingenious, really,” Orthrus added. “You’re using dragonfire as the concept, then extending it to hellfire. But that furthers your point. Merely using conceptual magic is possible, but mastering it is difficult. The benefits are immense. I suspect you dislike the difference, fox, because you naturally realize how difficult it is to disrupt his magic now.”
Fara scowled. “That’s… true. Earlier, when I reached out to the hellfire, it felt like real fire. Not magical fire. I couldn’t sense any of the magical tethers or threads that I would pull apart or make fuzzier when I cast a disruption array.”
“And that is why I use conceptual magic,” Rys summarized. “Almost every angelic Primum has some form of disruption magic, and so do a lot of powerful infernals. I can’t rely on sorcery if any random jackass can snap their fingers and turn my magic off.”
Some of them still could, of course. Rys’s trick didn’t work against spells as powerful as his new disruption spell. But there was a reason that he carried an axe and had a strength Gift. Sometimes, the best way to handle an enemy was to forget the fancy tricks and just hit them until they died.
During the course of their conversation, they returned to the entry level of the Gorgrian section. From here, they only needed to cross to Kavolara and then use the warp gate to return to the castle.
But there was a problem.
“Lord Talarys, I believe the Malus League has returned to the Labyrinth,” Taras said, his tone higher than usual. “As always, I cannot reach the castle through mindspeak, but I am concerned about the status of this warp gate.”
Rys cursed. “Orthrus?”
“I believe you left the gate’s defenses in place. The doors should bar entry to anyone other than yourself,” the wisp said.
True. Rys had forgotten about the runes on the doors to the warp gate. At some point in the future, Rys would need to deactivate the runes, so that others could enter and exit the room freely. Right now, they kept the castle safe.
“What are we up against?” he asked Taras as they advanced.
“A dozen mages, a knight in rune plate, and many undead.”
“Necromancers,” Fara spat.
“I guess this is my fault,” Rys said. “Somebody might be mad that I broke their toy.”
“I think that might be the least of why they’re down here, Rys,” she said. “There is the small matter of the war. They might just want to kill us. If they know you’re down here, then killing a king is even more important.”
As if to ruin Fara’s theory, a voice screeched at them from the far side of a long, dark corridor. “I know you’re there, you dirty, Kavolaran scum! You’ll pay for breaking my necromantic cairn.”
Fara’s ears flattened against her head, and she refused to return Rys’s gaze.
“We should be careful,” Grigor uttered, holding up his hand to stop their advance. “They are ready for us. He is not bluffing. And they are stronger than I expected.”
“How do they compare to the mages you fought in Compagnon?” Rys asked.
“Each of them is as strong as Forai was.” Grigor’s eyes burned as he used his soulsight to assess his opponents, even though nobody could see them. “Two of them are far stronger than anyone we have fought here. Weaker than either of us in raw strength, but strong enough to give me pause given they are likely capable sorcerers. I would be wary of battling either one-on-one without my revival Gift.”
Fara grimaced. “I have a bad feeling about this. Taras…u, you said you saw a knight in rune plate? Was he completely armored? Did you spot any sigils? Anything like an eye in black?”
The devil nodded. “I did not dare get close enough to make out their regalia in detail, but I believe that is likely.”
“You know them?” Rys asked.
“The Black Sorcerers. They’re part of Archwarlock Maliah Jyarvic’s inner circle and some of the most renowned mages in the League.” Fara bit her lip. “Their previous grand magister was a powerful infernalist—his name was Elias. He died invading the Royal Gorgrian Kingdom a few years ago, but nearly razed a city in the process. They have fifty magisters, elite mages, and it’s possible every one we’re facing is one.”
“Well, this is a day that doesn’t fucking end, isn’t it, boss?” Margrim chirped helpfully.
“I take it you recognize the knight?” Rys pressed Fara.
“Chief Enforcer Mave. Nobody knows anything about him, as he never takes his damn armor off. Lots of rumors about how he’s probably a construct or an undead reconstruction of Elias, because he showed up out of nowhere after the war with Gorgria.” Fara shrugged. “That’s the only reason I recognize him. Powerful mages in heavy rune plate are rare.”
Something about this situation bothered Rys. Normally, he would file that concern away, but he let this one simmer while he considered the situation.
“Come out here, you fucking cowardly assholes!” the voice from earlier screamed.
“He really wants us to walk into his trap,” Fara said.
“We need to get past them,” Alsia commented. “This appears to be a fight we cannot avoid, Rys. Isn’t a brutal victory over the Malus League something we should celebrate?”
“The brutality might be shared,” he said. “Again, this seems like a fight best avoided. I’d flatten them if there was something to gain, but this seems pointless.”
Rys continued to simmer, as he thought about how to proceed, but he didn’t have as much time as he’d like.
“So, what’s the plan?” Fara asked.
“Rush them, hurt them as badly as necessary, then make a break for the warp gate. Fred, Grigor, and I can hold them off, then we’ll retreat,” Rys said. “I trust that everybody can fight well enough to handle this.”
The orders went out, and they moved forward. Once the darkness resolved into a nearly fifty figures forming a wall at the far end of the corridor, battle broke out.
Magic flared beneath the cloaked mages, each of whom wore a black robe with silver runes woven into them. They cast combined rituals with three or four mages at once. No doubt they planned to rely on a wall of armored skeletons to protect themselves from assault.
Grigor broke that plan in an instant. He roared and slammed his axe into the ground. A cascading line of earth spikes rippled toward the mages, blowing skeletons into pieces upon impact. The targeted mages abandoned their spell and dove to the side.
Once the enemy’s ranks were broken, everybody else charged. Fred waded directly into one side. The skeletons vanished beneath his bulk, never to be seen again. That made for two gaps. A third opened up as Rys vaporized skeletons with hellfire, and Fara blew several apart with her spiritual flames.
That was the first step finished.
Naturally, this was when the mages responded. A whirling cascade of wind cut through the air, and began to shred the cloth and flesh of Rys’s party. Fara cursed as several cuts opened up on her face and blood streamed down her neck.
Her tails whirled behind her, and then the whirlwind vanished a moment later as she disrupted it. The Ashen hurled hellfire at the mages responsible, but they defended themselves with a glittering barrier of light. Everybody kept pushing forward despite the attack.
The skeletons began to piece themselves back together as they moved, and Rys watched as the blood began to congeal into amorphous blobs. Even Grigor’s earth spikes began to take form and try to attack Rys and his group.
Soon, flames, lances of light, and numerous other spells flew across the corridor. Fred, Rys, Fara, and Grigor took to the frontline. Alsia tried to join them, her own magical lances slamming into magical barriers, but Rys shooed her away.
“I can fight,” she snapped, eyes blazing.
“We’re not here to fight,” he said. “Go!”
She wavered, then left with her bodyguards, who lingered nearby.
An armored knight appeared in front of them, holding a greatsword as large as they were. This sounded more impressive than it was. In truth, the knight looked barely over five feet in height, even with their armor, so the great sword wasn’t that big. His armor and weapon glowed with dwarven runes.
Rys raised an eyebrow at him. For whatever reason, this man hadn’t attacked them. Rys hadn’t felt his magical signature in any of the spells cast. If Fara was right, this was Mave. Something felt off about him.
Mave’s eyes bore into Rys as he held his sword over one shoulder.
“Did you craft those runes yourself?” Rys yelled over the chaos of the battle. Another whirlwind churned up the air and was held at bay by Rys’s barrier.
“Did you?” Mave responded, pointing with his free hand at Rys’s axe, then at Grigor’s. His voice had an artificial lilting tone and was magically projected. No wonder people suspected he was a construct, because he sounded inhuman.
The wind died down, and Rys didn’t need to yell.
“I did,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve met another human who has crafted dwarven runes before.”
“I’ve been told it is not possible.”
“Ah, well, people like to talk nonsense about things they don’t know much about.” Rys stared at Mave, and wondered if they were having a conversation, or if the knight was buying time.
“The fuck are you doing, Mave? Stab the bastard!” a voice screeched. Rys recognized it as the man from earlier, who had been deeply upset over Rys’s vandalism of the necromantic obelisk. “I bet you’re the asshole who broke my cairn.”
The man who lurched out of the battle looked like a stereotypical necromancer. Huge, baggy dark cloak, lots of bones and knick-knacks, a huge gnarled wood staff with a skull on the end. Rys would call him a stereotype if he didn’t sense that the bones were active conduits to the astral plane.
Unlike Forai, this necromancer was the real deal. Forai had used corpses to fuel his creations. This mage conjured the undead from the collective astral energy around himself, skipping the messy process of using the recently deceased. Rys wondered how much more powerful his necromancy would be with a live source.
“Hah!” Grigor laughed. “You cared about that pathetic creation? Your work pales in comparison to anything I saw in the time of the Empire. I cannot believe you called it a cairn.”
“You…” The necromancer simmered, his face reddening. “I’ll use you as a necromantic puppet to destroy your own master, just for that!”
“Yoam, they’re taunting you,” Mave said calmly.
“Then kill them!”
“I think you’re missing the point,” Mave continued. “They are… how shall I put this? Getting away?”
The knight pointed his sword in the distance. Fred single-handedly blocked the entire exit from the corridor with his gluttonous mass, preventing pursuers from giving chase.
Everybody stared for a few moments.
“You cowards!” Yoam shouted. He charged off toward Fred, his staff blazing with an eerie purple light as he conjured more skeletons in a futile effort to unseat Fred’s gargantuan bulk.
That left Rys and Grigor alone with Mave, as everyone else had retreated.
None of the trio made a move. Rys’s suspicions deepened.
Rys stared at Mave for a moment. “Shall we look to the north?”
The knight stared at him. Then he slowly touched tapped the side of his closed visor, approximately where his nose would be.
“Impressive, King Talarys,” Mave said. “I look forward to our next meeting.”
“Perhaps we shall duel next time, and test our strength,” Grigor suggested, a broad grin stretching across his maw.
Mave didn’t answer, but Rys felt energy exude off the man in response to Grigor’s words.
Then Rys and Grigor retreated, and Fred soon after, with Yoam screeching after them.
Today had been a good day, but it would come with great ramifications in the future. Rys knew that he had greatly changed the course of his relations with both the Malus League and the Royal Gorgrian Kingdom today.
But that didn’t matter, because he finally had the raw power to tango with whoever he wanted to. It was time to return to his kingdom as a conqueror and turn his eye north.